Out With a Bang
by Unmasking-the-Architect
Summary: One-shot request. Muffet throws a party for Frisk with an unusual finale.


**Out with a Bang**

 **One-shot story written as a request for Barbacar.**

Frisk stood before the looming entrance to the manor, the thick-papered invitation held tightly in their hands, which trembled slightly no matter how much they tried to still them. It was no wonder; the last time they had been here, they had nearly been eaten. Perpetual gloom hung in the air in a deep haze of twilight, gossamer threads of silvery spiderwebs trailing absently on the tails of an unfelt breeze. The sound of Frisk's small fist knocking on the heavy door was swallowed by the faint rustles of distant creatures, but almost at once the massive slabs swung inward.

Creeping inside, invitation clutched so tightly that the edges crinkled, Frisk crossed the threshold and looked around. Spiders crawled over the walls, their bodies indistinguishable from their shadows even when illuminated by the light of low-burning candles. Violet wax wept down to tarnished brass holders and wispy tendrils of smoke curled lazily toward the darkened ceiling.

It was exactly how Muffet liked it.

Frisk looked down at the thick paper again. Twirling indigo script spelled out for an invitation to a going-away party, and smaller letters below specified that the festivities were meant to "bid our prison _adieu!_ " The date was right, the time was right, and there was nowhere else that Muffet would be.

 **Will you please tell Muffet that I'm here?** Frisk wasn't sure that the spiders skittering in and out of the flickering orbs of candlelight could understand their signs, but the monsters of the Underground never failed to surprise. Privately, they wished that they hadn't turned down Undyne's offer of accompaniment, but they had survived Muffet's…eccentricities…once before, and she had promised not to sic her strange, toothy pet on them again.

Frisk continued into the darkened hall, peering around through wide eyes. Their footsteps made no sound on the cobwebby carpet, the occasional strand sticking to their shoes.

"Welcome, dearie," purred a familiar voice, and suddenly light bloomed through the hall, making Frisk blink. Muffet was lounging on a high-backed throne, her slim periwinkle body draped casually over the arms of the chair. Her silky black hair had been let down from its tight, twisted pigtails and hung nearly to her waist. Frisk was forcibly reminded of ancient hairstyles they had seen before their fall into Mount Ebott, royalty wearing their tresses in so many tight curls and tucks that it appeared much shorter than it truly was. "I'm so pleased to see you."

 **Hello, Muffet,** Frisk signed, struggling to keep their surprise from showing on their face.

Muffet sat up straight and held out one of her arms. A platoon of spiders hurried immediately forward, their collective backs bearing a small, sterling silver tray. It was nearly star-bright in the gloom, bearing a single thick cigar. Muffet lit it and took a heavy drag, her five eyes closing all slightly out of sync with each other. "Nothing better for the lungs than spider stogies," she smiled. "Would you like one, dearie?"

Frisk shook their head, deciding not to ask her why the spiders seemed so unbothered by her blatant cannibalism.

"Suit yourself," she shrugged. "Pastry?" She held out another arm, on the other side of her body, and another spider squadron scuttled into view, bearing a platter of black-flecked donuts and croissants.

Frisk shook their head again. **Toriel made me eat before I came here.** They had never been so grateful for snail pie.

Muffet made an impatient noise. "Spider cider, then." Her tone offered little argument so Frisk obediently stepped forward the table that Muffet indicated, bearing a trio of flute-lipped glasses and a thick, granulated pitcher designed to look like a funnel web. Spider cider didn't taste terrible, as long as you focused hard on not thinking about what it was that you were swallowing.

 **The invitation said it was a going-away party,** Frisk signed, setting the glass aside with a soft _tunk._ **Is it to celebrate the barrier breaking?**

" _Mais bien sûr,_ " Muffet said with a raspy giggle, her violet stare focusing sharply. The smoke from her cigar bloomed lazily upward to frame her face in an ethereal wreath. "What else would it be for? We've had precious little else to celebrate for these long years, and now that change has finally come, we have _you_ to thank for it, dearie."

Frisk wasn't sure if a reply was expected—or indeed what they would say if Muffet wanted an answer—and so filled the silence by taking another sip of spider cider. They glanced at the shadows lurking in the corners, carefully searching for any sign that her pet was edging hungrily closer.

"Don't look so scared," Muffet admonished, taking another leisurely pull from her cigar and flicking the ash away. It fell to the carpet like a tiny flurry of disappointing snowflakes. "Being the distinguished guest of the Princess of Spiders does offer a certain level of protection." She giggled and Frisk managed a smile in return.

"I thought we'd have a little firework show," she continued, sitting up straighter in her throne and swinging her feet like an excited child. "I do so love explosions. They give life such… _flavor._ "

 **I like fireworks,** Frisk signed, eager to steer the conversation away from food.

"Come sit by me," Muffet invited. An alarmingly large spider, standing at least as tall as Frisk, waddled awkwardly toward them, its scuttling walk encumbered by the second, much-smaller throne clutched inelegantly in its pincers. It plonked the second chair down with a graceless _thud_ before skittering backward like a creepy, cartoonish butler. Frisk clambered into it, trying to ignore the sticky labyrinth of cobwebs draped across the high back and arms.

Muffet clapped all three pairs of hands. "Attention, spiders!" She announced, speaking around her cigar. "The performance is about to begin! Phoneutria, you're first."

 **P-H…F…** Frisk tilted their head, frowning, struggling to find the letters.

"Phoneutria," Muffet explained. "A genus of venomous spiders."

Frisk pulled their legs up as a tidal wave of spiders gushed over the floor, all swiveling to fix their millions of eyes on Muffet. The sensation was unnerving, to say the least, and there was a near-military rigidity to their attentive stillness.

"First act," Muffet said, lounging back on her throne. The spiders instantly began to climb on one another, and for the first few moments Frisk was afraid they were witnessing a massacre of legendary proportions, certain that the spiders were going to devour each other with gladiatorial devotion to Muffet, but then it became clear that there was a deliberation to their movements. They began to construct buildings and familiar scenes: Muffet's grandiose hall, Asgore's castle, Asgore, and then a strangely-proportioned version of Frisk themself.

 **That's wonderful!** Frisk smiled and Muffet grinned back at them, her five eyes blinking out of sync once more as she exhaled a long cloud of lavender smoke.

"Act two," she called, and the Phoneutria skittered away into the darkness, replaced by legions of long-legged spiders that immediately began to flip and tumble around like eight-legged gymnasts.

 _Arachnobatics,_ Frisk thought, and pressed one hand over their mouth to stifle a giggle. _Papyrus is right; I've been spending too much time with Sans._

The stunts grew daring and more daring still, spider trapeze-artists whirling through the air and a hundred times Frisk thought that they would smash to the ground in horrible hairy heaps of broken legs and splattered bodies, but every time they snagged onto an invisible strand of silk and swung away to safety. The act cumulated with an incredible balancing act, spiders cartwheeling through the air to land on the feet of their fellows, kicked into the air to perform a gravity-defying series of flips before falling and being immediately bounced up again.

"Act three," Muffet announced, and the long-legged spiders melted away into the darkness before Frisk could applaud the performance. "One might say that will be the best trick yet, dearie. Do you have any idea what could happen next?"

Frisk shook their head, hoping that the terrible toothy pet wouldn't make an appearance.

Muffet gave them a fanged smile. "Bring act three in, _s'il vous plaȋt,_ " she called. A low trundling noise ground through the darkness, calling to mind faint memories of heavy doors rolling open.

 **What is it?** Frisk asked, squinting through the shadows and straining to see something, _anything._ Muffet's idea of surprises had never gone over well, and they could feel the muscles along their spine, arms, and legs beginning to tense in anxious fight-or-flight anticipation.

"All in good time, dearie," Muffet answered serenely, taking another leisurely pull from her cigar.

The trundling noise reached a peak as a massive purple cannon was rolled into the hall, the low-burning firelight glinting dully off its polished sides.

 **What…** Frisk stared uncomprehendingly at Muffet, whose five eyes were glowing with delight.

"This will be your finest hour, dearie," Muffet told them, rising to her feet.

Frisk brought their fingertips to their chest, feeling the blood drain from their face as she approached and put two of her hands upon their shoulders, guiding them out of the second throne and down the few steps until they stood close enough to the cannon to reach out and touch it.

"You see," Muffet purred, "I wanted to send you to the surface with a certain style. Out with a bang, if you will." Not releasing Frisk's shoulders, she brought another hand to her mouth to stifle a giggle. "Don't worry, dearie. I've had my best spider mathematicians calculate the trajectory, and I've already prepared a path for your departure." She snapped her fingers and a trapdoor in the ceiling fell open, a square shaft of moonlight spilling onto the silver-cobwebbed floor. "You'll be just fine."

 **I don't want to,** Frisk signed, looking fearfully from the cannon to Muffet's grinning face. **I've had no problem walking to Asgore's castle before—I did it before the barrier was broken, I can do it again.**

"Nonsense," Muffet replied at once, a faint hiss entering her words. "It's such a long way."

 **Really, I don't…**

"Hush," Muffet admonished, pushing them a step closer.

 **The cannon will kill me! I'll be exploded!** Frisk's signs were so emphatic that they nearly smacked Muffet by accident.

"You needn't worry about that," Muffet explained with a dismissive wave of one hand. "It's safe—trust me, I've tested it myself." She tapped her toes on the tiled floor. "I'm none the worse for wear, and you won't be either." She picked Frisk up, ignoring their squirming, and plopped them into the mouth of the cannon. Something sticky clung to the back of their striped sweater. "Ah ah," Muffet said, shaking a finger as Frisk wriggled to scrape it off. "That's your parachute."

Frisk stopped squirming. **Toriel won't like it.**

"You'll get to the surface safely, and being shot out of a cannon is significantly less of a risk than battling your way to the barrier again. You've died doing that," she added with a sly wink.

Frisk signed nothing.

"Cross your arms over your chest," Muffet instructed, demonstrating with five of her arms (the sixth still held the fat purple cigar). "Keep your legs together." She stepped around to where the fuse lay coiled on the ground like a rough brown snake. " _Bon voyage,_ dearie!" She brought the cigar swooping down in an eager arc, dull violet sparks leaping eagerly from its ashy tip to catch on the fuse. Clouds of smoke billowed toward the ceiling and Frisk turned their head frantically to see the glint of millions of spider eyes, watching and waiting.

Muffet waved, her grin broader than ever, and then the cannon gave a colossal thrust and heave; Frisk felt like they had been standing on a suddenly-released spring. The hall fell away with impossible speed, the wind of their flight roared deafeningly through their ears, throwing their hair back as their stomach churned, sure that their organs had been left behind on the web-shrouded floor. Frisk wouldn't have been able to scream even if they had wanted to; the sheer exhilarating force and speed of their flight was like cotton wrapped around their vocal chords, hands pinned to their sides by gravity's envious hands. Light exploded around them and they caught the briefest glimpse of the shattered barrier as they soared out of the Underground and into the world that awaited.


End file.
